Rape fantasy: yes, I have one

I have been wanting to do a post about rape fantasy for a long time now, but whenever I start the post I find myself staring back at a blank screen, unable to find the words to convey what I want to say… and perhaps subconsciously, a little embarrassed.  A year or two ago I read Garden of Desires, written by Emily Dubberley (highly recommend it!) and finally realised that I am not the only woman in the world who finds herself fantasising about rape.

HavingSexual-fantasy been in a sexually abusive relationship in the past – which included rape – the whole idea of a rape fantasy is extremely confusing to me.  To begin with I was highly ashamed about my fantasy, why the hell would I want to relive that feeling of having no control and of being taken against my will?  More to the point, why would my brain drift to that little place when I was having sex or masturbating, and why did it arouse me so much?

After a lot of research and admittedly a lot of soul searching I came to the realisation that for me (and it seems for most women) rape fantasy isn’t so much about the desire to be raped (I do NOT want to be raped, I want to make that clear!) but more about having control over the situation.  I know, the idea of rape = control for the victim sounds crazy, but it makes sense when you think about it.  The rape fantasy is happening in your head – ultimately it is you in control of the situation – unlike a real rape when the victim is most certainly not in control.

When my brain does ‘go there’ it is never a prolonged fantasy taking up hours of my time, in fact, it probably only lasts for a minute or so.  My fantasy-attacker isn’t always the same person either, but it is always a man who is well known and is in the public eye, never a stranger.  I think my brain goes to the people it does because I know they are widely respected and admired and a lot of them speak out against domestic violence and the like.  Essentially the men who rape me in my fantasies are men who are the complete opposite to the man who did rape me.

Rape fantasy, as I experience it, is purely a mental thing which stays in my head.  I can’t say what triggers it, but suddenly I am in the situation where I am being forced against my will to have sex with < insert man’s name here >.  He is being rough, the sex is hard and fast and hurts – but in that hurts-s0-good type of way – not in the type of way I physically experienced in my ‘real life’ rapes.  Sometimes he’s calling me a slut, sometimes he is telling me I deserve it, or that he knows I want it.  Sometimes he tells me I’m stupid or worthless, but in those instances that is how I’m feeling about myself in general, and I know it is really *me* subconsciously telling myself that I am those things.  The fantasy always stops just before I orgasm, then I am back in reality and 100% alert and aware that it is my wife causing the myriad of pleasurable feelings inside me; it is always her that takes me over the edge, never the fantasy.  It is my loving, safe, secure reality that I eventually enter back into when the post-orgasmic fog has cleared and my brain begins working again.

It is hard to explain, and I don’t know that I’m really portraying what I feel accurately enough!

I have no desire to act out the fantasy in role play, but in saying that I have nothing against those who do!!!  Rape fantasy – when role played – is ALL about consent, and it really pisses me off when people are judgemental bastards about those who partake in rape fantasy role play!  Equally, I understand that not everyone is going to understand where rape fantasy (as a whole) comes from… it’s like any sexual turn on or fantasy, different strokes for different folks, etc, etc, etc.

THIS is part of why I think #AdultSexEdMonth is so important.  It is all about educating people about all aspects of sex.  More than that, it is about opening up dialogue about aspects of sex that are treated as taboo or that simply aren’t acknowledged as being worthy of open, honest, frank discussion.  It’s about normalising and embracing sex and sexuality, it’s about acknowledging sex is a broad topic that should be seen as something that (so long as consent is involved) is natural, normal, healthy and, well… awesome.

from brotherdash.com 'most prominent words or phrases women used to describe their sexual fantasies'

from brotherdash.com
‘most prominent words or phrases women used to describe their sexual fantasies’

Sex – so much more than penis-in-vagina

Untitled-4

‘When a mummy and daddy love each other very much, they cuddle closely and daddy puts his penis in mummy’s vagina…’

From those very first ‘birds and bees’ talks we are told that sex is essentially a man putting his penis in a woman’s vagina… and that is it.  We don’t question whether there is more to it or not and we certainly aren’t told that while, yes, sexual intercourse is the act of a man putting his penis in a woman’s vagina, there is actually far, far more to it; a beautifully broad spectrum if you will.

It wasn’t until my late 20’s that I realised the definition of sex isn’t quite as black and white (or penis in vagina) as I thought it was.  It’s not that I was brought up being told ‘sex is a penis in a vagina and nothing else’, it was just something I didn’t question.  Somewhere along the line society, as a whole, developed an inherent belief about what constitutes sex.  It’s something we giggle about as kids, it’s something we’re curious about as teens, something we may or may not enjoy as adults… yeap, good old penis-in-vagina, ‘he puts his what in my where?’ heterosexual penetrative sexual intercourse.

To that idea, I now say a big fat bitch please!

If there is one thing being a woman married to a woman has taught me, it is that there is soooooooooo much more to sex than a hard penis in a (hopefully! essentially!!!) wet vagina.

Firstly – and most obviously – if the two components of sex are a penis and a vagina there is no way my wife and I could have sex – and boy-oh-boy, we have some bloody spectacular sex!  It would also mean there is no way two men could have sex, meaning the only people in the world who could actually have sex would be those of the heterosexual persuasion – oh, and of course those greeeedy bisexuals*… or at least half the time.
(*I know it’s hard to convey a sarcastic tone in one’s writing so if you think I am being serious when I refer to bisexuals as greedy, I am most certainly not… I am simply being sarcastic as hell!)

I had the wool pulled over my eyes as well as, right up until I met the fantabulous woman who was to become my wife, sex was the act of a Untitled-7man putting his penis in my vagina; ‘everything else’ was classed as foreplay, was classed as a build up to the so-called ‘main event’, was merely something to do other than having sex… perhaps because he was tired, or I was tired, or one of us wasn’t in the mood, or you know, perhaps I was a bit sore from having weekend long daughter-with-her-dad sexathon.  I never once really stopped to think about what was below the surface when it came to sex, there was P-in-V and there was ‘everything else’; I enjoyed all of the above, but if there was no P-in-V action – regardless of whatever else happened – I would think of it as having not had sex.

Then I met my wife and it was like a whole new world opened up to me.

The first time we made each other orgasm that is precisely how I thought of it, ‘we made each other orgasm‘ – we didn’t ‘have sex‘.  Thinking about it that way, I was struck by the thought that perhaps I’d never have sex again, I’d simply have a life full of (amazingly overhwelming) foreplay-esque activities.  During our first week together I struggled with how to refer to what we physically did to bring one another to orgasm.  “She fingered me and I came”, “I went down on her and she came”, “I rubbed against her thigh and I came”, “I played with her nipples until she came”.  It was like a beautifully delicious mindblowing cause and effect cycle.

But that wasn’t how I thought about sex as I had known it until that point (ie when I had had sex with someone with a penis).  What was the difference?  If anything, what we did to each other made me feel better than anything I’d ever done with a man.

It was confusing and began feeling like the whole ‘which came first, the chicken or the egg?’ predicament.  What we did to each other felt better than sex, yet… it wasn’t sex, because there wasn’t a penis involved.  Right?

Then it dawned on me one day.  Sex is whatever the hell you want it to be!!!

It might be the typically thought of penis/vagina thrusting/grinding combination ending in an orgasm, but it could also be:
– fingering, either vaginal or anal
– anal penetration, either with a penis, sex toy, finger/s or even (not for beginners!) a fist
– stimulation of genitals using the mouth – the tongue, the lips, the teeth (again, not for beginners!)
– hand job (on man generally, but you can stimulate the clit in a similar way using your fingers!)
– biting, in any way and on any body part that causes an influx of horny feelings (this may be my weakness…)
– nipple stimulation, male or female, rubbing, tweaking, pulling, twisting, flicking, licking, tugging with teeth
– spanking
– use of restraints, ropes, hand cuffs, strong tape, scarves which are conveniently placed at the head and foot of your bed (not that I know  this from personal experience…)

templeIt doesn’t stop at the obvious physical stuff though – or not for me anyway.  Because there is no penis in our sex equation, I don’t tend to think of anything we do as foreplay per’se (can’t resist a good rhyme), rather, I see everything we do – that leads to us losing control in even the slightest way – as sex.  I enjoy a passionate, hunger-fuelled kissing session almost as much as I enjoy my wife working her special brand of magic with her fingers; I love rubbing her bottom gently until she’s whimpering and writhing around begging for more, as much as I love spanking her and making her scream so loud the neighbours would probably consider calling the police.

Sex has gone from being something physical for me, to being something that is physical and emotional, as well as being – in a weird way – somewhat spiritual.  Sex is now more about expressing my love in a variety of physical ways, of enjoying the contact with my wife.  I guess it’s about the connection; the special connection between us and only us, as lovers and wives, as two individuals who are totally crazy about each other.

I guess what this whole spiel is about, is the fact that sex is what you make it.  It should be defined by the individual, couple, trio, quartet (and on) in question.  As a sexual abuse survivor I think it is also extremely important to add that however sex is defined between two or more people, it should be a mutual decision, a decision made with both/all sides of the equation in mind and not serving the interests of one person over the other.

Is the guilt ingrained?

Hello-I-m-Horny-T-Shirts

For the best part of two weeks now, I have been incredibly horny.  Not a little horny, not a lot horny, incredibly horny.  I have had sex dreams most nights for over two weeks, I can’t control myself around my wife,  I can’t stop thinking naughty thoughts or plotting naughty scenes for various half-written stories.  I want to orgasm, I want to make my wife orgasm, then I want to do it all over again.

Not something I should be complaining about, right?  Well try and tell my brain that.  I felt a bit (mentally) off most of yesterday and last night ended up close to tears because I felt so damn guilty for being so bloody horny all the time.  I preach about women embracing their sexuality, about allowing themselves to be the sexual beings they want to be, I complain about the double standards when it comes to men and women and sex; yet there I was last night, apologising to my wife for being ‘too horny‘.

I cannot explain why I feel so guilty about what is a natural impulse I have absolutely no control over.  The rational part of my brain knows it’s stupid to feel guilty about such a thing and that in reality, I am lucky that I can feel so horny.  I know it’s a great thing that even after three years my wife turns me on so much and that I would spend all day having sex with her if I could… I know it says a lot about our relationship and our connection.

But still guilt bubbles up from somewhere.

I have to wonder if it is ingrained?  That perhaps over time the sexual double standards and inequality between men and women has i-try-to-keep-calm-but-im-always-horny-1caused this guilt to become a natural part of our psyche.  Women aren’t meant to like sex.  Sex isn’t about pleasure, it’s about procreation.  A woman who likes sex is a slut.  A woman who likes sex deserves to be shunned.  A woman shouldn’t have control over her own sexuality.  A woman needs to fit into certain categories to be considered attractive.  Respectable women don’t have sexual fantasies or desires.  Women can’t be happy with the way they look.  Women need to strive to have bigger _____, smaller _____, smoother _____, longer _____,  shorter _______, wider ______, narrower ______.

OBVIOUSLY there is something wrong about a woman who enjoys sex and has thoughts of a sexual nature!

I hate that I feel guilty for being horny.  For wanting sex.  For fantasising.  For imagining.
I hate that I feel as if my being horny is in some way an annoyance for my wife (even though I know that isn’t the case).
I hate that I am viewing who I currently am as sexual-being, in a negative way.

To a certain extent I feel like a bit of a fraud.  I like to think I am sex-positive and do my bit to help encourage women to allow themselves to embrace sex and sexuality – but here I am – feeling sex-negative, trying to find a way to stop myself feeling horny, wishing that I didn’t enjoy sex quite as much as I do.

When I speak to my wife about it, every conversation includes me saying the five words ‘I feel like a man‘, and I think that sums this whole situation up.  It is okay for men to be horny 24/7 (like I am currently), to want, need, demand sex, but not for a woman.

I guess most of all I am angry at whoever it was all those years ago that said ‘hey, dude – I don’t think women should be allowed to be treated as equals – especially not when it comes to having and enjoying sex!’

If I could go back in time and hammer-punch that douchebag in the mangina, I would do it.

 

* it probably doesn’t help that my wife and I have been having a ‘Channing week’ and have been watching this particular dance scene from Magic Mike far too often (okay, maybe not enough…)

It’s just a little crush…

sophie-wilson-design-ive-got-a-crush-on-you

The past few weeks we have been going to a certain place in town, for a certain service… their prices are cheap and they do a great job (and no, it’s not a naughty place!!!!! I’m just too paranoid about someone from ‘real life’ reading this and knowing what and who I’m talking of!).

I have a problem though, whenever I think about going back there I feel intensely guilty and can’t look my wife in the eye.  Why?  It just so happens that one of the guys that works there is rather easy on the eye – on my eye(s) – and I suppose you could say I have a little bit of a crush on him.

Having a crush has never bothered me in this way before, primarily because this time I am extremely, blissfully, overwhemingly, happily married, not an innocent tween or teenager.  In that respect, to be looking at someone else and feeling giddy, it feels wrong and like a betrayal of sorts.

By rights it shouldn’t trouble me – my wife knows about the crush – and enjoys teasing me every chance she gets.  She has told me on numerous occasions that it doesn’t worry her, that she understands what a crush is, more to the point that I’m a sexually charged human and it’s only natural to find certain people attractive.  Yeap, my wife is fucking awesome.  When I tell her it feels like I’m cheating on her or something, she laughs and rolls her eyes and tells me I’m silly.  Slowly I am starting to believe her, that having a crush doesn’t equate to cheating or anything close to it.

I’m just not used to feeling this way when having a crush!  I haven’t had a bonafide crush in years, probably since my late teens, and let’s face it, as a teen you have a certain innocence.  You imagine what kissing that person would be like, perhaps you imagine what they’d look like naked, maybe even what it would be like to have sex with that person; but it’s not graphic.

Now, as a woman in my early-30’s?  Graphic.  Graphic, graphic, graphic.  I don’t look at him and giggle and wonder what it would feel like to kiss him.  I bite my lip, frown and imagine how it would feel to be bent over the kitchen table while he slams into me from behind.  I don’t imagine what he would look like naked, I imagine what his stiff cock would look like and exactly how he would like that cock to be sucked.  I don’t just wonder what sex would be like, I imagine the myriad of positions we could have sex in, I imagine the sweat, the panting, the screaming, the hard & fast, the slow and gentle, the grunts and groans, how full I would feel, that first press inside, that final slipping out…

See.  A crush is now more than a crush; it’s a full blown sexual fantasy.  I guess it doesn’t help that I write erotica and my brain is now programmed to find the sex in everything.  Where a crush was once wishful thinking, it is now the living out of a story inside my head… like my brain is writing a story without my permission.

Perhaps the most telling way the simple crush has changed between my teens and 30’s however, is what I want from the crush.  In my teens the crush always meant lusting after the person, hoping, dreaming that someday that person would see me in the same way and we would end up together.  Now?  A crush is just a fantasy.  No wishful thinking, no hopes that ‘maybe, one day’.  I have never ever ever looked at that person and thought *sigh* I wish we could be together.

Why would I?  I am so crazy in love with my wife that thought of being with someone other than her is upsetting, it’s the last thing I want!  I plan to be with her forever, in everything I do she is the one who will be by my side.

And maybe that is what really bothers me.  This little crush is something I do without her…

—————————————————-

And for those of you humming the song after reading the title of this post… this is for you!

Why women should masturbate – and be proud of it

masturbate

I remember the very first time I had an orgasm.  It was Boxing Day, I was in my bedroom reading the book ‘Spring Collection’ by Judith Krantz.  I came across a sex scene and the next thing I knew I was touching myself in a way that felt wrong, but ohhhhh so good.  I must have been 13 and felt very conflicted about what I had done.

I had heard about masturbation before, well mostly about guys ‘wanking off’, a term that would make me giggle and screw my face up… it was yet another gross thing boys did.  From memory I told myself it was a one-off, that I wouldn’t do it again.  A few nights later I was nearing the end of the book and remembered that scene and what it had made me feel, what it had made me do to myself.  I told myself not to flick back – but I did – and as I had done on Boxing Day, touched myself until I had what I was pretty certain was an orgasm.  I felt ashamed but at the same time… relieved… and so relaxed that I quickly fell asleep.

Over the next few years I masturbated with more frequency but still mentally battled with myself over it.  If it was so wrong, why the hell did it feel so good?  If it was so bad for me, surely I would get sick or something?  My fingers would fall off?  My vagina would put up some form of protest?

I knew boys and men masturbated but was truly convinced I was the only person with a vagina who had ever masturbated.  OH MY GOD, there was something wrong with me!  Lock me up and throw away the key.

Eventually I accepted that I was a masturbator, that for whatever reason my brain wasn’t wired properly and maybe I had a ‘guy brain’.  None of my female friends ever spoke about masturbation, the closest they came was using the word ‘wanker’ as a derogatory way to refer to a male (of course I did this… hello, they CAN be a bit wanky at times!).

My male friends though?  Masturbation this, masturbation that, masturbation here, masturbation there, porn this, porn that, hard on, stiffy, boner, steel rod, pole, rockhard-cockhard… they spoke about it a lot and they spoke about it openly.  I remember feeling envious of them.  Sure, I didn’t need to know that ______ had masturbated in his car on his lunch break, or that ______ had masturbated five times over the weekend… but I envied that they could openly discuss it.  It was almost as if masturbating made them more macho in the eyes of the world, whereas if I had admitted to enjoying fingering myself, I would probably get a look of disgust and a few knives in my back.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh yes, that delightful male/female double-standard thing stikes again.

Fast forward to 2015.  I am a proud masturbator.  I don’t exactly walk around town holding a placard proclaiming how awesome masturbation is and that everyone should do it, but I don’t shy away from the topic when it comes up. (okay the immature 12yo in me is giggling about the whole ‘comes up’ thing)

Being a little older (okay a lot) and a little wiser (sadly ‘little’ is the accurate word) I now know that  I am not the only woman in the world who masturbates, and I know there is absolutely nothing wrong with masturbating!  Not only is there nothing wrong with it, it is healthy and normal.

From a young age a huge emphasis is placed on us to know who we are, to know what makes us tick, to know what we want out of life, to know what it is that makes us stand out, that makes us unique.  We are meant to dedicate enormous amounts of time to finding ourselves so we can live to the fullest and reach our potential.

Should that not include knowing our own body?  If it is important to know what works for us on a mental and emotional level, shouldn’t it be just as important to know what physically works for us?

Face it.  For most people their adult lives are consumed by sex in some way (obviously to varying degrees).  We are expected to be in the right career, to be on the path that means we can be 100% happy within ourselves… why shouldn’t we know who we are as a sexual being?  If the fate of the human race rests on our shoulders – if babies need to be made, if we are meant to pair off and find ‘the one’ – then shouldn’t we know ourselves sexually?

How do we learn about ANY aspect of ourselves?  Exploring.

How can we learn about what works for us on a sexual level?  Exploring.  Yeap.  Masturbating.

They say you need to know yourself before you can really let someone else into your life/heart/soul/whatever, so doesn’t it make sense that you shoud know your own vagina before you can really enjoy letting someone else into that as well?

Masturbation is great for relationships!  There is nothing better than having a spectacularly mindblowing, coma-inducing, legs-don’t-work, brain-no-worky romp with the one that you love (or that special friend with special benefits) and being able to guide ymasturbation-4574-2121our partner just adds to it.  Humans aren’t mind-readers.  We don’t (always) instinctively know what someone is going to like sexually, and let’s face it, it can be damn frustrating when you just aren’t feeling it because you aren’t getting the right pressure in the right place, you’re not getting it deep enough, you’re getting it too deep, too hard, too fast, too slow.  If no one speaks up it can lead to confidence plumetting.

“Oh my god, I didn’t get him/her off, I am so useless at sex!” <— that type of internal dialogue ensues.

If a woman knows her body well enough – through masturbation – she can guide the man/woman in question… rub my clit in a circular motion, rub my clit softly, rub my clit faster/slower, penetrate me slowly, penetrate me fast, move all the way out and slam back in, don’t move out at all, just grind your hips into mine.

Sexual responses are just as unique as the 6.something billion humanoids on earth.  I don’t respond the same way my wife does, Jane down the road doesn’t respond the same way as her cousin Lucy, Anna loves deep penetration, Margaret loves shallow penetration, June is all about the clitoral stimulation, April can’t handle too much clit stimulation.  Just reading that makes me feel flustered.

Moral of this little (okay, long, almost preachy) story?  MASTURBATE!  Do it!  Tonight!  Give your most intimate self a pamper session – go on, you deserve it!

Spend time focusing on your erogenous zones… the aim isn’t necessarily to orgasm (hey, that’s always nice but it isn’t everything), you want it to be a relaxing, enjoyable, peaceful (??? if your circumstances allow!), you want to come away from it smiling, knowing yourself that little bit better.
Play with your nipples – do you like them to be lightly grazed or tugged on?  slow rubbing or fast rubbing?  squeezing?  twisting? squeezing and twisting? tugging?  tugging and squeezing?  tugging, squeezing AND pulling? touching your bare nipples?  touching your nipples with a sheet/towel/top/bra/etc covering them? no touching whatsoever?
Stroking yourself – do you like to stroke your hips? your neck? your chest? your belly? your ass? inner thighs? with your hand? with something like a feather? a silk scarf perhaps?
Pay lots of attention to your clit – do you like your clit being rubbed in circular motions? side to side? up and down? pressing firmly? feather light touches? what about gently squeezing it between your fingertips?  firmly squeezing? tapping it quickly?
What about your labia – running your finger up and down between your labia? pressure in a particular place? fast? slow?
Internal stimulation – fingertip just inside? fingertips just inside? a finger deep inside?  fingers deep inside? fast? slow? what angle? soft impact? rough impact? gentle? so hard it almost hurts? no internal stimulation? only internal stimulation?

masturbation_Oo_by_Photomaniac_ZIThere is no one way to masturbate and there is no one position to masturbate in… on your back? on your left side? on your right side? sitting up? reclining? standing up? head hanging over the edge of the bed? on your back with your ass against the wall and your legs vertical? on your belly? a variety of positions throughout?  It’s the same for the location (obviously privacy and appropriateness are key here!)… in the bed? on the bed? on the floor? in the bath? in the shower? on the couch?  on the recliner? at your computer? at your desk? on the toilet? in the laundry room? in the garden? in your car while driving through a really busy roundabout after you have been rubbing against your poor drink bottle for the past 15 minutes and it just feels too good to stop (uh… yeah, not a true story… *coughs* really…).

Do it with your fingers, do it with a dildo, do it with a vibrator, do it with a cucumber, do it with the handle of a hairbrush, do it with the fish-shaped baby bath thermometer, rub against something… just do it.  Learn what you love, learn what gets you off, learn the fastest way to make yourself orgasm, learn the most teasing drawn-out way to make yourself orgasm.

Hell!  If you ask me, masturbation is a bloody life skill life-saver.  I was about 10 weeks pregnant with my youngest when I became single… it just so happened my libido went through the damn roof around the same time.  Had I not been able to masturbate chances are I would have internally combusted by the time I reached the 20-week mark!  As someone who was single for very long periods of time between 18-27, I can tell you that being able to masturbate probably saved me from going insane due to sexual frustration.  When I became un-single for the final time the sexual frustration didn’t go away – no – it was worse than ever.  I know, makes no sense – until I mention three little words – long distance relationship.

For 12 months we lived 650km apart and with kids and school, were only able to see each other in the school holidays and only for a week(ish).  We spent a LOT of time on the phone talking… and having sex.  Phone sex, it’s a funny old thing, you’re communicating with the person you love and if you close your eyes you can imagine they are right there beside you.  But they are not.  What you are essentially doing is talking to each other while masturbating.  I cannot tell you how many batteries I went through or just how many orgasms were had over the phone.

We would talk dirty to each other, make up little stories and scenarios to get each other closer to the edge.  It sucked not being able to physically have sex, but I have to say it was a lot of fun to listen to her getting more and more turned on, and then of course hearing her orgasm was especially enjoyable.  I guess you could say that in those 12 months of long distance we honed our masturbation skills into a pretty fine art.  It was a way to keep the spark alive while we were apart but it was also a good way to get to know each other on a physical level; well, as much as one can over the phone!

On a more serious note (because there has to be one, it’s like the law, or something), women shouldn’t be ashamed of masturbating or of the fact they are sexual beings.  Sex is something to be enjoyed.  Masturbation is something to be enjoyed.  Masturbation is healthy and normal – at any age.

As a parent I have strong thoughts about children being raised with a negative attitude toward masturbation and body image.  Children shouldn’t be taught that masturbating is ‘bad’ or ‘evil’ or ‘dirty’, nor should they be brought up to believe sex is bad and something they shouldn’t like. I guess this is such a big issue for me because of our four children, three are girls.  Our eldest is nearly 11 and is going through puberty, while it is a scary time we are also really lucky because she is extremely open with us.

We have had numerous conversations about puberty, about the changes in her body, sharing our experiences as well, in an attempt to make it normal for her.  Puberty isn’t something we keep ‘hush-hush’ and I think she will be better for it (as will all our kids) in the long run.  I think we are doing a good job too because rather than being embarrassed or secretive about what she is going through she seems to be proud of the changes in her body… I love that she can talk to us and that she willingly comes to us.  A lot of our conversations are initiated by her and that is something that makes both of us happy; it’s nice to know we are doing something right as parents!

I just wish more parents were like this.  If we didn’t make children (particularly girls) feel ashamed of what is such a natural curiosty – and if there wasn’t such a stigma attached to the human body, from such a young age – perhaps there would be more more women in the world who were proud of themself, their body, and their sexuality.

End of the day:
Sexual curiosity = normal
Masturbation = normal 
… and anyone who tells you otherwise is an utter douchebag who could probably do with an orgasm or 50!

Klimt_Mulher_sentada

– by Gustav Klimt (1916)

 

Leah and Beau see the New Year in with a bang

Yes.  Absolutely terrible pun for a title, but come on – it is the end of the year – I think we’re all entitled to a little craziness?  It is New Years jw056-350a-whiskey-on-the-rocks-whiskey-and-ice_1920x1200_69168Eve here in NZ (in fact, it’ll be 2015 in a little over 5 hours) so I thought to celebrate I would share a New Years scene from one of my stories.

Now, this story is an old one and probably won’t be published… but I absolutely love it.  I love the characters, I love the storyline… I just love it.  Maybe because it is one of the very first substantial stories I wrote?  I shouldn’t say ‘wrote’ because it is still a WIP, it probably always will be.  I can’t seem to finish things up for Leah, Jane, Beau, & Asher… it would be like saying goodbye to good friends for the final time.

I have posted excerpts from this story before… it focuses on girlfriends Jane and Leah, their bestfriend (and friend with benefits) Asher, and his friend Beau.  Long story short, Jane, Leah, & Asher have a threesome, become best friends, he offers to be a donor for them, they agree, Jane gets pregnant; the couple also has sex with Beau and as a result of the New Years Eve I am about to share, Leah also becomes pregnant.  Blah, blah, blah, yaddah, yaddah, yaddah, Asher meets the love of his life (Lucy), and over time Jane and Leah come to realise they are in love with Beau… as I am a fan of the happy ever after, it is no surpise that he is also in love with them.  Jane, Leah, & Beau all go on to live very happily ever after in polyamorous bliss… along with their tribe of children.

Ooops, I said long story short didn’t I.  More like long story not quite as long.

Before I ramble more, I shall say goodbye for now and leave you with that drunken New Years Eve that changed evvvvvvverything.

party-drink-black-out-new-years-ecards-someecards

——————————————————

“Thanks for inviting us tonight, it’s been ages since we did anything for New Year’s,” Leah said and Beau smiled.

“No problem. I knew Ash would be gone and that you’d probably be missing him, so thought you might enjoy a night out,” Beau explained. “It’s just a pity Jane couldn’t be here too!” he added.

“I know, but this pregnancy thing is taking it out of her. She is so tired, I don’t think she’s been awake past nine for the last week now,” Leah told him and he smiled sympathetically at her.

“What do you do all night long then?” Beau asked and Leah winked at him.

“Well, I’m writing a lot more than I have for the past year, so I guess my publisher will be happy with me!” Leah told him and Beau smirked. He had been told about the type of books Leah wrote, and the thought of her writing erotica stirred something inside him.

“What’s the new book about?” Beau asked and Leah winked at him.

“That would be telling,” Leah replied, cryptically. Beau laughed.

“Let me know when it’s published then,” Beau told her and Leah nodded.

“Maybe you’ll even get a free copy,” Leah suggested.

A waitress walked past carrying a champagne tray and Beau took two glasses and handed one to Leah. They ceremonially clinked glasses and took a sip.

“I haven’t been drunk in a lonnnnnng time,” Leah informed him and Beau laughed.

“After an incident a few months ago, neither have I,” Beau said with a wink. Leah laughed and winked back at him.

“I think I know the incident of which you speak,” Leah noted and Beau raised an eyebrow at her.

“Oh, I’m sure you do,” he replied.

“As much as I love this fancy sparkly stuff, do you reckon we can find something a bit stronger?” Leah asked and Beau grinned at her.

“I like the way you think,” Beau replied and then took her hand and led her toward the bar. “What do you want?” he asked Leah, curious to see what her answer would be.

“Whiskey and dry… might as well make it a double,” Leah replied and Beau couldn’t hide his surprise because he presumed she would ask for a vodka and orange juice or something equally girly.

After ordering himself the same thing he led her out onto the balcony with drinks in hand and they took in the view. They stood talking like old friends and, before he knew it, both glasses were empty – so he went back for another – and another, and another… and another. After the fifth drink, he lost count of how many they had had and when they started having their whiskey on the rocks knew they were in trouble.

At some stage in the evening, in an attempt to be responsible, he got them both water and they were sitting at a table talking when Michael and Maddi sat down in the two spare seats.

Beau had forgotten that Michael and Maddi were going to be there and greeted them both very happily. Maddi explained that they had managed to convince her parents to babysit for a few hours and told them she felt like she was missing a part of her body, not having Benjamin around. They spoke about Jane and Maddi promised Leah that the fatigue would start going away after the first trimester. Beau’s eyes glazed over a bit with all the baby talk – and it wasn’t entirely due to the alcohol consumption!

After a few minutes later Maddi and Michael left to look for ‘little nibbly things’ to eat and Beau led Leah inside in search of another drink.

With a fresh drink in hand, Leah and Beau explored the enormous penthouse suite. They eventually found themselves in a secluded hallway and both laughed when they talked about the shenanigans they could get up to in such a secluded part of the suite.

A look passed between them that left Beau unable to do anything but put his whiskey down on the sideboard they were standing next to, take Leah’s from her hand and put it beside his, then press her up against the wall and kiss the hell out of her. Leah kissed him back just as hungrily and when he tugged on her bottom lip with his teeth she moaned quietly and pressed her hips against him. When he broke off the kiss to catch his breath, he put his hands on the wall – one on either side of her head – and looked down at her.

“You know we don’t have to….” Beau started and Leah nodded.

“We probably shouldn’t… drunk and all,” Leah replied.

“Bad intoxicated decisions,” Beau agreed.

“Pregnant girlfriend home in bed,” Leah added.

“Drunk and all,” Beau noted.

“Boss kink… suit….” Leah said and ran her hand down his chest.

“Boobies… heels… boobies… boobies…” Beau replied, running a finger down her cleavage.

“Horny, so…. horny…” Leah said then bit her lip.

“Very very…” Beau replied, and when Leah pulled on his tie she smiled sexily at him.

“Need it…” Leah stated, firmly.

“Badly,” Beau added, and then moved his face very close to hers. “Jane did give us her express permission so how about we go to my house?” he suggested and Leah pulled on his tie as she kissed him.

“Now,” Leah exclaimed insistently against his mouth.

There was a cough to the left of where they were and when they eventually broke off the kiss and looked up, Beau was surprised to see Michael standing there, grinning.

“You are both going to be so hungover tomorrow,” Michael exclaimed and shook his head, then left the hallway. The exchange was over so quickly that, a minute later, Beau wasn’t sure if it had really happened or not. Had he imagined the exchange with Michael? What the hell would he think, seeing him and Leah kissing so hungrily? He was too drunk and horny to care…

Beau took Leah’s hand and led her from the hallway and out into the main part of the suite so they could get the elevator. When the doors opened no one else followed them, so for the 30 second trip down to the ground floor, Beau had Leah pressed up against the wall as they kissed passionately. Leah’s fingers snaked into the waistband of his pants and Beau let out a frustrated groan – he desperately wanted to be naked with her – but an elevator on New Year’s Eve was hardly the time or the place.

While they waited for a taxi to arrive, Leah went to the bathroom and came out a couple of minutes later smirking. She took her handbag off her arm then held it open in front of him – looking inside Beau could see Leah’s panties – and again the need to be buried deep inside her became overwhelming. He shot her a pained look and she smirked knowingly again. The taxi finally arrived and after what felt like a very drawn-out trip they were outside his house. Beau paid the driver and led Leah up to the front door, which he proceeded to press her up against and kiss her, while fumbling with his keys to open the door.

The door opened and they fell through, laughing as they stumbled and fell on the mat in the entry way. Beau laughed as he rolled on top of her and they started to kiss again, but this time with more ferocity than any of their prior kisses – most likely due to the fact they were finally alone – and in a sex appropriate locale. Leah moved her legs around his waist and pulled him against her. Even though he was fully clothed he began moving against her, enjoying the way it made her moan.

The kissing continued until they were both frantic and finally he moved off her and removed his pants and boxers. Leah’s handbag was beside her on the floor and when he looked back at her she was removing a condom from the box he had purchased earlier. She grinned as she pushed him onto his back and straddled his legs before carefully putting the condom on his cock, which was getting steadily harder.

With that little matter taken care of, Leah moved up until she was straddling him at the hips; after lining herself up she plunged down on top of him, letting out a loud cry as he hit the back of her pussy. Leah moved so her hands were either side of his head and as she rocked her hips against him they kissed, tongues tangling and grazing against each other while he moved his hands to her hips and pulled her down more snuggly against him. Leah’s began to move her hips harder and faster and even though he had a condom on, he was still very conscious of how good her pussy felt around him. As he began nipping at her neck Leah started to moan loudly and he found that the more contact his mouth made with her neck – and the harder the contact was – the harder and faster she moved against him.

Had he been sober he probably wouldn’t have started biting her so hard, but couldn’t control himself as he dug his teeth into the soft flesh of her neck, spurred on by the way she responded to the biting, her hips bucking wildly against his. He started to grunt as he felt his orgasm starting to build, and again pulled Leah down harder against him, enjoying the way she screamed as his cock hit a new spot inside her. Beau could feel her pussy clenching tightly around him and while he wished he could feel her without the barrier of a condom he also liked the fact that the condom was prolonging sex for them.

It couldn’t be prolonged forever though and when Leah started to move harder and faster against him, Beau felt the tension in his cock get to the point of discomfort. Leah started to scream loudly and he felt her pussy start to clench madly around his cock her entire body going rigid as her orgasm hit. Beau pulled her down so he could hit deeper and Leah managed to keep moving her hips until the tension inside him finally burst free and he groaned loudly as his orgasm hit. Leah continued moving her hips against him until his orgasm had waned and then she collapsed on top of him, giggling as he rolled them both onto their sides.

“Oops,” Leah exclaimed.

“I did not mean for that to happen!” Beau replied and they both laughed loudly.

“Who are we kidding, that was going to happen whether we wanted it to or not,” Leah giggled drunkenly and Beau nodded in agreement.

“Your fault, your boobies looking all… boobyish, with that deviously designed dress,” Beau commented.

“No, your fault, all suit and tie and boss-man looking,” Leah countered.

“Actually I blame you because of those damn heels you were wearing,” Beau decided.

“Wait, let’s blame Asher! If he was in town, me and Jane would be with him tonight,” Leah giggled.

“Yes. It’s Asher’s fault we got drunk and ended up having sex on my floor!” Beau agreed and they both laughed.

Beau got up from the floor and helped Leah to her feet before leading her into the lounge. He had been about to suggest they go to bed when he noticed that the clock on the wall read 11.56pm. So, rather than suggesting bed, he ran through to the kitchen and got the half-full bottle of whiskey from the cupboard, along with two shot glasses and took it back into the lounge where Leah was sitting on the couch, looking rather dazed.

“Almost midnight!” Beau exclaimed as he turned the TV on, and put it on the offical New Year’s countdown.

“Oooooooooooooooooooh, it’s the law to do shots then!” Leah said excitedly.

“It’s the ultimate law!” Beau agreed as he opened the bottle and filled the two shot glasses.

“What do we shot to?” Leah asked, giggling.

“I don’t think ‘shot to’ is the right word, but I can’t think of what it is, so… let’s shot to…. Jane being with child!” Beau proposed and they raised their glasses.

“To Jane being with child!” Leah said loudly and they both downed their shots.

“We can’t do a shot to Jane being with child, without doing one to baby daddy!” Beau noted as he filled the two glasses again.

“Yes! No! Yes! I mean….” Leah rambled.

“To baby daddy!” Beau yelled, and again they clinked their glasses and threw back their second shots.

“I know! We need to do a shot to whiskey too! Without whiskey, we wouldn’t be shotting whiskey!” Leah exclaimed and Beau nodded as he filled the glasses again.

“Very true!” Beau agreed.

“To whiskey!” Leah proclaimed, they clinked again and gone was the third shot.

They took their next shot when the clock officially struck midnight and, after having another four shots, saw in the New Year with a lot of kissing. Kissing that started out with them sitting side by side on the couch and ended with Leah straddling him, his cock buried deep inside her. Before she started to move her hips Leah literally tore his short off him – buttons popped off as it opened – and he moved forward so she could take the shirt off.

Finally she started moving against him and it seemed only natural for him to move his hands to Leah’s back and undo her dress zipper. Leah assisted him by moving her hands from his shoulders so he could pull the dress up and over her head, eventually casting it aside on the floor. Beau buried his face in her cleavage and grinned like a lunatic as he felt the soft skin of her breasts against his face. Naturally he felt the need to explore further so, in one easy movement, reached behind her and undid her bra – which soon joined the rest of their clothes in a pile on the floor.

Leah sat up taller so her boobs were in his face and as he took one nipple in his mouth, he could feel her pussy squeezing at his cock. The harder he sucked, the tighter Leah’s pussy squeezed his cock and the faster she rode him. Beau couldn’t get enough of her boobs and for a while all his concentration was on the way her nipples felt against his tongue and between his fingers. When Leah put her fingers under his chin and brought her mouth to his, it was as if he was snapped out of his nipple-rific daze and suddenly all he was aware of was the fact her pussy was drenched, and how hot and silky it felt as she moved against him.

Things progressed very quickly from there, one moment he was enjoying how hard her nipples were against his tongue, the next minute he was feeling the presure building inside his cock as she rode him speedily toward orgasm. Her pussy was tight around him, their pelvic bones were grinding together, her cries were loud and high pitched with his grunts and groans equalling hers in the noise department.

With arms tightly around his neck Leah rode him harder until she came undone, screaming as her orgasm burst free, seconds before his own hit.

Afterward, Leah collapsed against him and he buried his face in her neck, trying to catch his breath. Somehow they made it into his bed – with the premise of having sex all night – but that turned out to be wishful drunk thinking, because moments after their heads hit the pillow and the room began to spin, they both fell asleep.

Such faith in the next generation. Only not.

intolerant asshole

**** I apologise for the language used in this post.. but ‘nice’ language wasn’t going to suffice.

I rolled my eyes when I saw I had one message under the ‘other‘ category on my Facebook PMs.  Let me guess, some guy wanting to show me his dick, some fraudster with $1,000,000 that was left to me in the will of a long lost non-existant relative.  I clicked on the message and as I did, realised the name was that of the 16-year-old son of one of our friends.  We don’t see this friend a lot, mainly because we are busy and she is busy, but also because her husband is very controlling (putting it very politely) and extremely religious – as is our friend.

The family are very strict Catholics and something I’ve always appreciated about our friend is that she has always welcomed us into her home; she is of the belief that love is love and you can’t help who you love.  On the instances we were at her house she was very open with questions – I like that she was so curious – that she took the time to listen and try to understand us, when according to her religious belief system homosexuality is a sin.

Her husband on the other hand… men and women are put on the Earth to procreate, women’s purpose in life is to pop out babies and to serve the men in the family.  Not just her husband but also her sons.  The one time we were at her house when the husband arrived home unexpectedly he looked at like we had horns growing out of our heads, had long pointy tails, were bright red and had flames shooting up all around us.  His thoughts were very easy to read.  Sinners.  Get the fuck out of my fucking house. Now.

All because I love my wife and she loves me.  All because we treat each other as equals.  All because we each found our soulmate.  All because our marriage is a happy one.  All because we have a family together.

Who the fuck are we to… y’know, love each other, love our family and be happy?  Seriously?

Now that I have set the context I shall continue with my venty little post.

Facebook.  Message from this young man.
Ha gay‘.

WOW.

I know he didn’t mean ‘ha gay’ as in ‘I have to go to bed early’ ‘ha! gay!’.  He was saying ‘ha, you are gay and that is disgusting, burn in hell mother fucker’.

Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree does it?

5a54781a1da39c018d5618e78186cd0cI feel like a right twat.  Earlier this week I was thinking about the world our kids are growing up in and the fact there is a lot more tolerance/acceptance of the LGBTQI community.  There is more than when I was growing up, more than when my parents were growing up, more than when my grandparents were growing up; I know there is still a very long way to go, but I thought that perhaps we’re finally starting to get it right, that this younger generation are going to grow up even more tolerant/accepting than young people these days.  For a moment there I felt proud of living in a country where same sex marriage is legal, where two women can walk down the street holding hands and not fear for their lives, where most people don’t bat an eyelid when they see two men or two women who are obviously romantically involved.

When I told my (then) 5-year-old daughter that I was in love with and going to marry a woman all she was worried about was whether or not she would get to wear a princess dress.  I guess we got lured into a false sense of security because neither of us had any negative reactions when telling someone about our relationship and then about our impending marriage; quite the opposite, everyone has been so supportive of us, so accepting of our relationship.  We have been very lucky.

That message today… it shook me up.  It made me realise that not everyone in this world is as open-minded, supportive or accepting as those we are lucky enough to be surrounded by.   What unsettled me the most about it is that this 16 year-old has learnt this sort of intolerance and let’s face it – assholyness – from a parental figure.  As kids we think our parents are godlike, what they say is the absolute truth, we model ourselves on the way they act, what they say, what they do, what they think… it’s not intentional, it just happens.  I guess it is evolutionary and way-back-when probably helped the young develop the skills necessary to survive.

Whatever the reason, this kid has now been programmed to act, think and be a certain way.  He is going to carry on the nasty circle of hatred and intolerance toward the LGBTQI community.  Him and his little friends who have been brought up the same way.  Those little shitheads will go on to procreate – because it is after all, our reason for existence – and then teach their children to be prejudiced, judgemental, close-minded, intolerant.  Those children will grow up and have children, and unless the cycle is broken those children will be like the generations of men and women before them.

Please note:  I am by no means saying that all religious people are like the young man I am talking about.  As I said earlier, his own mother is the opposite of what he is and I know plenty of other religious people who are supporters of LGBTQI rights and of same-sex marriage; in the same way there are a lot of non-religious people in the world who are anti-LGBTQI rights and against same-sex marriage.  Everyone is entitled to their beliefs, but everyone should be entitled to live their life the way they want, without fear of judgement or worse (and in some cases much worse).

I hope that something happens in this kids brain and he re-thinks the way he acts.  He can think homosexuality is a sin but he doesn’t have to act on those thoughts by saying or doing something to insult or hurt another person.

I hope so for his future wife.  I hope so for his future kids.  I hope so for his kids’ kids and their kids… and on and on.

Let’s face it though.  That probably won’t happen.  He will be like his father and not entirely to blame for the way he is… it is what he knows, after all.  It is his normal – it’s sad when you put it that way – sad and scary.

In the meantime I will enjoy being married to my soulmate, my equal, the woman who loves me for me, who lets me be who I am.

Oh – while I’m at it I will also take great pleasure (figuratively and very literally) out of the spectacular sex that is part and parcel of being in a loving marriage such as ours.  Sex that is 100% about pleasure – not procreation or duty.

In  perfect world this would be a no-brainer

In perfect world this would be a no-brainer